The Short and Lamentable Career of Joan Nightingale
by Sarcasticles
Summary: She joined the marines when she was seventeen. By twenty-five she was discharged, having lost more than her innocence along the way.
1. Gilded Cage

**AN:** Been in a bit of a funk lately regarding my One Piece works and was hoping to find a little inspiration amongst my old files. This is an OC-centric story regarding a character meant to be an antagonist for a fic I'm not sure will ever see the light of day. It's not uncommon for me to type up backstories for my important OCs so that I can write them better in my main works. What positive effect this has on my productivity is minimal, but I really do find it helpful when trying to hammer out the nuances of my secondary characters.

The difference between this and my other ongoing works is that this is actually finished with a total of six chapters. I'll post ever couple of days and by doing so hopefully get back in the groove of writing and editing on a regular basis. For those of you who, like me, don't like OC stories, that's okay, but I hope you stick around regardless as I feel this bucks the traditional formula. For those of you who do decide to put up with my nonsense, I'd ask that you leave a review telling me your thoughts. They really do inspire me to continue and to strive for improvement.

* * *

Joan Nightingale picked up her quill for the fifth time, determined that _this_ would be the time she actually fond the strength to put words on the blank sheet of parchment that lay in front of her. She had no idea why she was so nervous. She had thought through every possibility and deemed this the best course of action. The decision was already made. All that was left was to follow through.

The parlor was silent, as it had been since her mother passed away the year before. Unlike her daughter, Lady Nightingale had been an exemplary hostess. Ferro Manor, once full of life, had died with its mistress. There were no more balls that were the envy of the island and no more grand dinners with important statesmen. All that was left of the once-great house was one miserable girl and a man too entrenched in his business to care.

Setting the quill down gently, Joan buried her head in her hands. It seemed foolish to miss her mother in death when in life they had done nothing but try each other's patience. For sixteen years Lady Nightingale had done her best to raise her daughter in the proper manner, which was to say as a gentlewoman, and for sixteen years Joan resisted. Preferring the library to the drawing room, she detested the idleness and hypocrisy found all too often within her peers. The girls she was expected to interact with were brainless, the boys dull. With far too much time on their hands their parents engaged in petty rivalries or buried themselves in meaningless pursuits. An ambitious few entered politics, but even they only sought to further their own self-interests.

Joan couldn't do what was expected of her, and that fact had only become more obvious after suddenly finding herself the lady of the house. With a shaking hand, Joan picked up her quill for the sixth time. Pursing her lips together, she wrote the two sentences that were throwing her soul into such turmoil. Her resolve hardened with each stroke, and by the end she was almost relieved to have finally gotten it over with. Sealing the note, she went into the hall and found one of the servants.

"Will you please take this to my father," Joan said quietly.

"Yes, miss. I'll bring it to him presently." The servant tucked the note in her apron pocket.

"Make sure he reads it," Joan called as the woman continued down the hallway. "It's…it's important," she said, her voice trailing off to nothingness.

The servant gave no indication she heard as she turned the corner, and once again silence reigned in the dead, soulless house.

~x~

The marriage between Edward and Lisbeth Nightingale was one of convenience. Uninterested in making or keeping friends, Edward required a charming wife talented enough to entertain his business partners and peers in society. The youngest daughter of a wealthy baron, Lisbeth sought a husband that could sustain her high standard of living. For many years their marriage was childless, and no one was quite sure if the couple was barren or if they couldn't be bothered to fulfill the prerequisite requirements for a baby.

Excitement tore through Ferro Manor when it was discovered that Lady Nightingale was pregnant. There was to be an heir at last! The Nightingale name would continue for another generation, and the household waited with baited breath as the day came closer for them to finally meet the newest addition to an old and distinguished family.

Somewhere along the line it was forgotten that Lady Nightingale had just as much chance of giving birth to a daughter as she did a son. It was whispered amongst the servants that when he was told the gender of his child, Edward Nightingale left the birthing chamber and did not return. Island law forbid women from inheriting property, and he had no use for a girl.

Joan was an only child, and she lived her life knowing that from the moment she was born she had been nothing more than a disappointment to both her parents.

~x~

Father's business took up a great deal of his time, and it wasn't unusual for Joan to go days or even weeks at a time without seeing him. Tonight was no different, and she ate alone in the dining hall. Usually she took her meals in the library, where she could eat while she read, but after informing her sire of her plans, Joan had half-expected him to make an appearance.

But he had not, and now she felt foolish as well as lonely.

She ate with stiff, mechanical movements, the food tasting like ash on her tongue. The only decent thing Edward Nightingale had ever done for his daughter was ensure she received a world-class education, and some days even that felt more like a curse than a blessing. Joan studied history, philosophy, and the sciences, and was capable of holding her own in conversation amongst intellectuals. It was easy for her to see through the superficial charms of her suitors, knowing they were interested only in her dowry and family connections. She could no longer stand attending balls, for as much as she loved to dance, if she had to spend another night fending off shallow men while being forced to socialize with silly women she might just kill herself.

Joan stabbed a bit of steamed broccoli with more force than necessary. It wasn't _her_ fault that the family fortune would go to some cousin or other who didn't even live on the island. It wasn't _her_ fault that convention said her future was dependent on whether or not she could snag a wealthy husband. It wasn't _her_ fault that none of the single men her age were worth marrying!

When she took the time to think through things rationally, Joan knew she was not being fair. There were people in the world who managed to be both rich and sensible, and while they were an endangered species, a few did exist on the island. The problem of Joan's discontent ran deeper than her peers, and she knew she would never be free of it as long as she lived in Ferro Manor.

"Miss, I've got something here for you."

Joan looked up from her meal and thanked the servant before taking the piece of parchment she held in one hand. She recognized her note and her father's cramped handwriting immediately. Quickly she scanned its contents, and once she reached the end she was blinking back tears.

 _Dearest Father,_

 _I have made up my mind to enter the Marine Academy. The arrangements have all been made, and I leave the day after next._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your Daughter_

His response was only two words, and though she was expecting it, they cut Joan to the heart.

 _Very well._

Mother would have had a fit. Many her contemporaries would have been disowned. But her father did not care, just like he had not cared for seventeen years.

With careful, precise movements, Joan folded the parchment into fourths and threw it in the fireplace. Then she left the table, ignoring the rest of her meal and retired to her bedroom. She had less than two days until her departure, and she needed to pack.


	2. Flying Free

It was only an hour before lights out when Joan slogged back to her room, cold and exhausted. She had sixty minutes to shower, finish the required reading for her classes, and lay out her uniform for the next day. Mentally kicking herself for losing track of time and getting stuck training in the rain, Joan entered the dormitory in a surlier mood than usual. A few fourth year cadets snickered as she passed, not bothering to wait until she was out of earshot before they began whispering amongst themselves.

Joan's cheeks burned with shame, but she kept her head held high. Women were a rare breed at the Marine Academy, and women who had never sailed or handled a gun rarer still. It hadn't taken long before Joan became the target of much ridicule. These were the marine's best and brightest, each admitted only after receiving a commendation from an officer of captain rank or higher. They shared common goals and dreams for the future, but came from such different worlds it seemed impossible to bridge the gap between them.

Not that they bothered trying. Joan quickly realized her efforts of comradery were not going to be reciprocated, and she refused to humiliate herself in an attempt to please them. Between the arduous requirements demanded by the Academy and the total lack of support many would have quit, but her pride refused to allow it. She was still deeply unhappy, but at least now the unhappiness was of her own doing. Even if she were allowed back home with her tail tucked between her legs, giving up now would be admitting defeat.

No. Joan had survived more than a year already. She would graduate and serve her term of active duty when the time came. Beyond that…she didn't know. Not having a plan for the future was more than a little frightening, but she couldn't dwell on it. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity intact.

Stewing in her black mood, Joan trudged into her room. She ignored her roommate as she gathered a change of clothes. Rosemary (she had no last name, a fact that Joan was disturbed to discover bothered her immensely) was the only other girl in their year, and as such they were destined to room together for the entirety of their training.

Rosemary was very much a conundrum. She was known throughout the Academy as 'Little Monkey', referring to both her petite frame and wildly energetic personality. But when some of the nastier cadets tried to make fun of her for it, she simply beat them senseless before calmly informing them that she _liked_ the nickname, thank you very much, and if they couldn't back up their words with their fists, then perhaps they shouldn't speak at all. Her study habits were nearly nonexistent, her grades terrible, but at the same time she seemed to understand the essence of being a marine better than anyone else Joan knew.

"Hey, Joan?"

Joan paused at the bathroom door, making sure to keep her face perfectly calm. "Yes?"

"You know the break we're getting next week?" Rosemary asked. She sounded uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

"Yes, I'm aware of the holiday," Joan said.

"Well, I was wondering if you had plans. There's going to be a big celebration in the city, and the people I was supposed to go with cancelled on me."

Joan blinked in surprise. She hadn't given much thought to the festivities, and any time spent celebrating in the city would be less time spent training and studying.

On the other hand, she had gone a soul-crushingly long time without a day just to relax and have fun. She and Rosemary weren't friends, per say, but they were friendly enough with one another. Spending the day at a festival might just be what she needed to survive the rest of the year.

"I'd be happy to go with you," Joan said.

"Really?" Rosemary said, surprised. "I mean, that's great! It's no fun going by your lonesome. I hear there's supposed to be a big dance and everything!"

Joan frowned a tiny frown at the mention of a dance. "I should get ready for lights out."

"Oh, sure! We can talk more later. Thanks a lot, Joan!"

~x~

"Free drinks!" Rosemary exclaimed. "See, I told you wearing our uniforms out was a good idea!"

Joan took a polite sip from the mug in front of her, then took a deeper draught when she realized the rum was of good quality. She felt remarkably out of place sitting in the middle of a pub in parade dress, but they were hardly the only ones. Half a dozen marines-in-training and instructors mingled in the establishment, with more sure to come once word got out servicemen were being served at a discount price.

"It's the festival," their waitress explained. "You'll find all sorts of good deals 'round the island dressed like that. Never let it be said we don't appreciate what you ladies do for the rest of us folks."

"Aw, hell," Rosemary said, running her hand through her crop of short curly hair that had a habit of never lying flat. "We haven't done nothin' yet. We've got another two years of training to go."

In the relaxed setting, the cadence to Rosemary's speech slipped into a more rural drawl. Knowing that it would only embarrass her if she realized what she was doing, Joan took another drink and pretended not to notice.

"Say," Rosemary continued, "do you know what's goin' on later tonight, entertainment-wise?"

"The big thing is the ribbon dance," the waitress replied. "They do it every year and it's always a hit. I hear they've been training for three months."

"Wait, so the dance isn't a dance? I mean, for everyone?" Rosemary said, disappointment evident even as Joan's interest piqued.

"There'll be plenty of those too, but the performance is the big draw. Now if you excuse me, I've got some other customers that need looking after. I'll be back in a jiffy for your orders."

Rosemary slumped in her seat as the waitress walked away. "Well, that sucks."

"You don't want to watch?" Joan said, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the pub.

"You do?" Rosemary retorted. "You didn't seem particularly interested when I brought it up before. I kind of figured dances weren't you thing."

" _Dances_ aren't, but I enjoy dance. Watching it, I mean," Joan said.

Rosemary's eyes turned sharp, and she regarded Joan with interest. "Is that so?"

Feeling the sudden need to explain herself, and perhaps encouraged by the alcohol, Joan said, "I used to love watching ballet when I was small. I told my mother I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up."

"And what'd she say?"

"She disapproved. Strongly." Even now Joan could remember the sting on her cheek from the one and only time she had made her mother angry enough to hit her. She smiled wryly. "We didn't go out much after that."

"And she let you be a marine instead?" Rosemary said, eyebrows raising.

"She didn't have a say in the matter. Mother died two years ago."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea. Was it pirates?" Rosemary asked.

Joan shook her head. "Influenza."

"Pirates took my ma and my pa when I was a kid," Rosemary said. "I was lucky that my uncle took me in. He taught me how to fight, how to protect myself. Now I'm going to protect others."

"That's a noble goal," Joan said, both admiring and a little intimidated by the fierceness by which she made her proclamation. Rosemary seemed too small to contain such lofty aspirations. It made running away from home to prove some vague, nebulous point seem quite shallow in comparison.

Joan took another drink to wash out the bitter taste in her mouth.

"So why _did_ you join the Academy?" Rosemary asked. "It seems like a big jump from 'dancer' to 'marine officer', doncha think?"

"Perhaps," Joan allowed. "I first got the idea after Admiral Alexandria retired. They made a play based on her life story, and a trope came to the island to preform it. It really was excellent, especially the subplot with Admiral Kong. He was played by Randolf, you know."

"I'll take you word for it. Never been one for plays myself," Rosemary said with a crooked smile.

"I couldn't get it out of my head afterword," Joan said, looking down as she ran a finger around the rim of her mug. "I don't know, there's something freeing about the idea of sailing out to oceans unknown, and as a marine I'll have a chance to actually _do_ something with my life."

Joan startled as Rosemary slammed her fist against the table. " _Aha!_ I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Joan asked.

"You're a _closet romantic!"_ Rosemary crowed. "I knew it, I knew it, _I knew it!_ "

People were staring at them, and Joan thought she was going to die of embarrassment. "I am not!" she hissed under her breath

"You are! You joined the marines because of a _play_. I knew there was something beneath that crusty exterior of yours, but I couldn't figure out what."

"There is not," Joan protested in horror. "The play may have given me the idea, but I researched all my options before making a decision. This simply fit my goals for the future."

Rosemary leaned in closer, her grin threatening to split her face in two. "And what goals are those?"

"To help people," Joan said stiffly. "To continue my education and to see the world."

"To be free?" Rosemary guessed, blue eyes dancing.

Joan didn't answer, but there was no hiding the truth as her face turned a spectacular shade of red. Rosemary laughed, and thankfully it didn't sound like it was at her expense.

"Let's get out of here and see your dance," she said, grabbing Joan by the arm and dragging her towards the exit. "Tomorrow you can train with me. I'll whip you into proper shape before the year's out."

"Now just one minute," Joan said, resisting against her hold. "We've spent the year ignoring one another. You can't just decide how I spend my time."

"I think you'll find I just did," Rosemary said impishly. She laughed out loud at Joan's chagrin. "I consider myself an excellent judge of character, and I think with a bit of polish you'll make one hell of a marine. Trust me."

And despite herself, Joan did.

They were different in almost every way, but in spite of (or maybe because of) it, as the years passed they became the best of friends. That was another, very welcome first, and one that Joan treasured above all else.

Their paths split after graduation. Joan was sent to the West Blue while Rosemary found placement in the Grand Line. They swore to keep in touch, and during the early years of their careers wrote to one other often.

Those were the golden years of Joan's life, and she should have known it was too good to last.


	3. Herald of War

_Joan,_

 _I just heard the news about your promotion and transfer to the Grand Line. Congratulations! Any sane person would have bumped you up to lieutenant ages ago, but you letters made it sound like your old CO was a jerk. Hopefully you get someone better this time around._

 _Maybe we'll run into each other at HQ one of these days. Rear Admiral Kuzan is kind of a bum, so we spend a lot of time there. On the other hand, rumor has it that he's due for a promotion himself, and vice admirals don't really have time to sit around doing nothing. I guess we'll just have to see what happens._

 _I demand to know all about your new crew. None of this "professionalism" nonsense, either! If you're not honest with me I'll have no choice but send you a strongly-worded letter expressing my disappointment._

 _I'm kidding, of course. I do look forward to hearing about your thoughts on the Grand Line. Last week we went through a storm where it literally rained cats and dogs. They were sea-cats and –dogs, mind you, but it was still kind of a surreal experience._

 _Other than that, I've got no new news. Best of luck, and I hope to hear from you again soon._

 _With best regards,_

 _Rose_

~x~

 _Dear Rosemary,_

 _In your previous letter you asked about my opinions on my new shipmates, and all I'm willing to say at this point is that I'm cautiously optimistic. You know that it can be difficult for me interacting with new people, and it's hard breaking into a close-knit group. There are times when I feel like an outsider looking in, but the vice admiral has been most kind (and a definite improvement over Captain Nolan)._

 _Did I mention he's a giant? I had never met one before, and he's—for lack of a better term—_ gentler _than what I expected. Apparently the reputation of violence that giants are known for is based on one specific breed, and the vice admiral takes exception to anyone suggesting otherwise._

 _All in all, first impressions indicate he's a good marine and a better man. My only complaint so far is his laugh, and which really shouldn't be any complaint at all, except that it is completely ridiculous._

 _I don't know when we'll be in marine headquarters next. The vice admiral doesn't like politics, and spends as little time as possible at Marineford in hopes of avoiding them. In the meantime, I'm getting plenty of experience sailing on the Grand Line. There's been no cats and dogs falling from the sky, but we did pass an elephant that was large enough to walk across the ocean. I think there was civilization on its back, but we were chasing a pirate crew and didn't have time to investigate._

 _In other news, I am now a hammer. A week ago I managed to confiscate a Devil Fruit from a crew who was trying to sell on the black market. Apparently it is marine policy to give anyone who comes across a Fruit the choice of whether or not they want to eat it or surrender it to the World Government (in return for compensation, of course). I considered relinquishing it, but our unit regularly sails in the New World and this way I can contribute more during battle._

 _So I am now a Ribbon Woman. Some of the others laughed when they saw, but the vice admiral says that an ability user's true strength is their creativity. He's even taken the time to help me get more familiar with my power. I tried to tell him that it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. As I said before, Vice Admiral Saul is very kind._

 _Best wishes in your endeavors. Try not to get into too much trouble._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Joan Nightingale_

 _P.S.,_

 _I hope that this is enough to satisfy your curiosity. I had flashbacks of my mother when you wrote about "strongly-worded letters", and I'd rather not be on the receiving end of one of yours._

~x~

 _Joan,_

 _You know what normal people don't do? Casually drop the fact that they've eaten a Devil Fruit at the end of a letter. Seriously, that's first paragraph material right there!_

 _Anyways, that's awesome news! Don't listen to the losers who're laughing at you. I bet you look like one of those ribbon dancers from the festival we went to years ago. Plus you'll never have to worry about having handcuffs when you want to arrest someone._

 _I'm getting jealous just thinking about it. I can't believe you're a freaking ability user. I bet the next time we spar you'll kick my ass. Good of your CO to help you with your power. I bet if I ever got my hands on a DF, Vice Admiral Kuzan would tell me to go figure it out myself. Lazy bum._

 _That's right, it's official. Rear Admiral Kuzan is now Vice Admiral Kuzan, and we're expected to be busy and productive sailors. We haven't been on dry land for weeks now, and everyone is getting a little bit stir crazy._

 _I can't wait to see you. Here's to hoping it's soon. Rumor has it something big is bubbling at HQ, and they're calling in a lot of brass to deal with it._

 _With Best Regards,_

 _Rose_

 _P.S.,_

 _I think you were joking in your postscript, but with you sometimes it's kind of hard to tell. Either way, I'm sorry if I reminded you of your mother, and consider my curiosity satisfied until we meet again. I expect the full rundown of how you got your DF then, with all the gory details included._

~x~

 _Dear Rosemary,_

 _I hope this reaches you before we arrive to Marineford. I told the coo delivering it to fly posthaste, but I'm not sure how much those birds truly understand._

 _I apologize for not writing sooner, but life has been…busy. Recently we were running a patrol when we sighted an unmarked ship, which tried to escape us when we called out for them to identify themselves. We gave chase and caught up to them, but after refusing our offer of surrender we had no choice but to engage._

 _It quickly became apparent that they were not pirates nor trained fighters of any kind. Yet for some reason they battled like men possessed, preferring to die than be captured alive. In the end, we were only able to capture one of the thirty-three members of that ship._

 _There is a library in the West Blue called the Tree of Knowledge. It's rather famous in intellectual circles, especially to those who study history, and I heard it spoken of often when I patrolled the West Blue. The men and women we fought were archeologists from that institution sent out with the purpose of destroying the world._

 _I don't know the details, and I don't think I could tell you of them even if I did. I suspect that whatever is "bubbling" at Marine Headquarters has to do with these criminals. We are now in the process of transferring the one survivor there for further questioning. From the little I do understand, I can tell that drastic measures are going to be taken. I heard that even the Elder Stars are getting involved._

 _I can hardly believe it. The woman in custody looks so normal. How is it possible for evil to disguise itself so well? If they hadn't try to run from us, I doubt we would have known their true nature. I wish you were here. With your intuition, you would be able to cut through the she-devil's lies effortlessly._

 _As it is, I have this uneasy feeling that I can't explain. I can hear you telling me to stop being foolish, and I wish I could. This is only the beginning, and I'm afraid that things are going to get worse before they get better._

 _It is my hope that I see you when we reach Marineford, if at all possible. We should arrive within the next three days._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Joan_

~x~

 _Hey Joan, don't have much time to write, but I did get your letter. I'm just going to say trust your instincts, because this is bigger than either of us can imagine._

 _We're going to be stuck out here a little longer than planned, but VA Kuzan said we're heading back to Marineford the exact moment we finish the job here. Will talk with you more then._

 _-Rose_

~x~

 _Rose,_

 _I don't know what to say._

 _Vice Admiral Saul is gone, and the archeologist Nico Olvia has escaped from custody._

 _I don't understand how this could have happened. The vice admiral would never aid a criminal. Never. But I saw it with my own eyes. He helped her escape, and then he helped her steal a marine ship. Our ship, where we lived and fought together as comrades. He stole it, then gave it to a rogue of the highest order. _

_Nico Olvia has to be involved somehow. I know he spent a great deal of time talking with her, but I always assumed it was for the purpose of interrogation. I can't imagine what she told him to convince him to do something so against his character._

 _I can't afford to dwell on it for too long. Our unit has orders set sail to the West Blue under the command of Vice Admiral Kuzan. A Buster Call seems inevitable, and I cannot say that I'm sorry for it. If I ever see Nico Olvia again, I'll kill her myself._

 _This is not how I wanted to see you again, but I will be grateful for your company. It's during times like these that the world needs dependable, trustworthy individuals willing to do whatever it takes to keep the people safe. I'm finding it harder and harder to find people dependable and trustworthy, and now that the vice admiral has defected…_

 _I'm glad I will see you soon. I don't think I can bear this alone._

 _Your Friend,_

 _Joan_


	4. Calm Before the Storm

"I thought I'd find you here."

Joan didn't bother to look up from her writing. It was incredibly difficult to find solitude on a ship full of hundreds of sailors, and she was mildly irritated that Rosemary found her now. The cargo hold had become her sanctuary during the long, hard journey to the West Blue. With nothing but the rats and her thoughts for company, she could gather enough strength during her off-duty hours to maintain the professionalism that was expected of her.

"You know, for someone who said they missed their friends, you've sure got a funny way of showing it," Rosemary drawled. "You can't just hole yourself up in here every time you're not on duty. It ain't productive, and it sure as hell ain't healthy."

Joan set her quill down gently and blew on the paper to help the ink dry. "It's too loud everywhere else."

" _Oh for the love of_ —Do you think you're the only one hurting?" Rosemary demanded. "Half your squad's been reassigned to Vice Admiral Kuzan. Do you really think you're the only one upset about Vice Admiral Saul's defection?"

In truth Joan was miserable. Somewhere along the line she'd gotten it in her head that reuniting with Rosemary and meting out justice to the traitorous Oharans would magically make things better. That, of course, was nothing but foolishness. She had admired the Vice Admiral, looked up to him as an ideal marine. After finally being removed from the toxic environment of her first assignment, Jaguar D. Saul had taken Joan under his wing and made her feel welcome. _Useful_. He had taught her how to use her Devil Fruit, encouraged her interests in the sciences, and sponsored her most recent promotion.

Rosemary didn't understand that, and Joan didn't expect her to. Rose had always been an independent spirit. Her own commanding officer was a self-admitted sloth, and yet she'd flourished since graduation. Already a captain, Rose carried herself with a self-assured confidence that Joan didn't remember seeing even during their Academy days. She had never needed the support Joan required to truly thrive.

Vice Admiral Saul's actions had greater consequences than the escape of Nico Olvia. Joan's trust in her own judgement was shattered. Cancerous self-doubt ate at her constantly. How could she have been so blind? What other evils had she overlooked? And, worst of all, _why_?

"Talk to me, Joan," Rosemary said. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

Joan bit back a caustic remark and closed her eyes. "I don't think you can help me when I don't know what the problem is. This is something I've got to figure out on my own."

"Horseshit." Rose sat down beside her and slung an arm around her neck. "By this time tomorrow we're going to be eyeball-deep in the worst fight either of us has ever seen. We're going to have to depend on each other then, and we've gotta depend on each other now. You know better than to bottle all this…this fear up inside."

"I'm not afraid; I'm _angry_ ," Joan snapped. Her vision had suddenly gone cloudy. "How could he? The Oharan Devils want to destroy the world. Those poneglyphs are illegal for a reason, and he…he just let her go. Did we mean so little to him?"

Anyone else would have tried to comfort her, but Rosemary only shrugged. "I dunno. Vice Admiral Kuzan always spoke highly of him." A troubled look crossed her face, and didn't say anything more for a long while. Joan waited. Rosemary was a methodical thinker, and rarely said something important without considering all of the implications beforehand.

"You always said I had good 'intuition'," she began slowly. "I'm not sure that's the right word for it. I never told you before, 'cause, honestly, it sounds crazy even to me, but sometimes I can hear things."

"Like voices?" Joan asked.

"Not…exactly." Rosemary scowled a little in frustration. "It's hard to explain, but do you remember that day I took you to that festival when we were at the Academy?"

 _How could she forget?_ "Yes."

"I lied to you that night. I never had plans to go with anyone else, but I couldn't think of any other way to get you to come with me."

Joan raised her eyebrows. "Then why ask at all? I wasn't the friendliest of cadets."

"Still aren't," Rosemary said with a grin that was only slightly forced, "but I could tell that you weren't half the pompous ass you pretended to be. You fooled most everyone else, but I knew you were the loneliest person I'd ever laid eyes upon. You were just too stubborn to admit it. Even to yourself." She paused to take a deep breath.

"I hear things like that all the time, and it's been that way ever since I was a little kid. But lately it's been happening more often, and you know what, Joan?"

"What?"

"I'm starting to realize that things are hardly ever what they seem to be." Rosemary picked up the paper Joan had been working on. "And people who aren't afraid don't take out the time to write out their last will and testament."

A lump formed in Joan's throat, and she had to look away so Rosemary couldn't see the tears in her eyes.

Strong, warm arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her in close. Had anyone been there to see, they would have laughed at the sight of tiny Rosemary consoling the infamously cold-hearted marine lieutenant.

But still waters run the deepest. Just because Joan hid her pain behind an armor of callous apathy that did not mean that it was not there, and for the first time since Jaguar D. Saul's betrayal, she allowed herself to weep over the loss of the man she thought of as the father she'd never had.


	5. The Rampage of Jaguar D Saul

Never had Joan ever heard a battleship be so silent.

The gentle waves lapping against the hull were like a clanging cymbal announcing their arrival, the flapping of the flag in the wind the steady beat of a war drum. Gulls squawked overhead, marines shifted their weight uneasily, but no one spoke a word.

Vice Admiral Kuzan fiddled with his den-den mushi, awaiting for news that the Cipher Pol team that landed half an hour before had found proof that the archeologists of Ohara were studying the Void Century. Joan understood that even the vilest offenders had the right to due process, but she was ready for this to be over.

"Damn," Rosemary said quietly, breaking the silence. She led a pair of binoculars to her eyes, watching as a stream of civilians rushed onto the evacuation ship. "What do you suppose they're thinkin' right about now?"

Joan tried to picture it, but found that she didn't have the imagination. "At least they're leaving. I expect there will be some whose stubbornness exceeds their common sense."

Rosemary made a face like she'd been force-fed a carton full of sour milk. "You don't really believe that do you—"

Her question was cut off as the den-den mushi began to ring shrilly. Even though she was expecting it, Joan jumped. Mentally scolding herself for showing such weakness, she reminded herself that for Justice to be served the attack on Ohara was necessary. It wasn't enough to arrest the archeologists, for as long as the library remained standing criminals would be drawn to it like a fly to honey. The Tree of Knowledge was more than a research center—it was a symbol of defiance, a stronghold for those who would use the secrets hidden in the Void Century to revive weapons of mass destruction.

As much as the thought of destroying all those books made Joan's heart ache, it had to be done. The archeologists had forced the World Government's hand, and there was no other choice but make an example of them.

The bombardment began. As a Devil Fruit user, Joan's orders were to stay above deck and be ready to defend against a counter-attack. This was an admittedly small risk as the Buster Call out-gunned the archeologists by a considerable margin, but the Admiral Sengoku—under the direction of the Elder Stars themselves—was taking no chances. As the first explosions rocked the island, Joan kept her eyes fixed on the colossal tree. Straggling civilians flooded out of the village, desperate to escape before it was too late.

"Fools," Joan whispered, even as she prayed that they would make it in time. The attack was indiscriminate. Their ship was ordered to aim for the Tree of Knowledge, while others targeted the surrounding towns and countryside. Explosions dropped sections of rock into the sea, fire roared throughout the forests, and even at this distance Joan could hear the library groan and splinter against the continued abuse.

Suddenly Rosemary grasped her arm. She looked ill, her face turning a greyish-green pallor as she clasped her head with a trembling hand.

"Rose…?"

"They're screaming," she gasped. She looked up at Joan with wide, half-crazed eyes that were glazed over with tears. "God, can't you hear it? The Voices, they're _screaming_."

Marines all around them were shouting orders and firing cannons, but there was nothing that should have garnered such a reaction from the normally level-headed captain. After the next round of fire Rosemary choked out a sob and slid to her knees. Joan didn't know how to react. Her best friend was having a mental breakdown in the middle of one of the most important missions in the history of the World Government. Seeing no one that could help, Joan reached down and slung one of Rose's arms around her neck, forcing her to stand.

"Come on, Rose, you've got to help me walk," Joan said. Rosemary stumbled forward a few steps, her eyes squeezed shut and grasping her forehead in obvious pain.

They made it a few more feet with Joan almost bearing all of Rosemary's weight before there was a shout from one of the sentries. "Vice Admiral Kuzan! There's no doubt about it, it's the deserter, Vice Admiral Saul!"

Joan whipped her head around. It took precious seconds for her to see the lumbering gait of the giant running up the coast towards the evacuation ship. She flickered her gaze to Vice Admiral Kuzan, but there was a battleship blocking their line of fire. Kuzan gave no command to move in closer, his expression unreadable behind dark sunglasses. Impassively he watched as one of the other warships opened fire on the traitorous marine.

She couldn't bear to watch and scarcely noticed as Rose's grip tightened around her neck. _This was Justice,_ she reminded herself. Saul made his choice the day he aided the Nico Olvia's escape. He was a criminal, a danger to the world. There would not— _could not_ —be any mercy.

"Your Voice," Rosemary groaned. "It _hurts_."

Joan's throat constricted and she found she couldn't answer. Instead, she aided her friend closer to the hatch that led below deck. A marine screamed, and out of the corner of her eye Joan saw Saul lift something out of the water.

Not something, a _battleship_. With a strangled oath, Kuzan leapt into action, using his Devil Fruit to bridge the distance to land instantly. But it was too late. With a mighty roar, Saul threw the vessel like someone would a spear, targeting one of the nine remaining warships of the Buster Call.

Saul's aim was true. Wood splintered, metal rivets driven loose from their fastenings. Hundreds of marines died instantly as the momentum of the ship smashed a hole hundreds of feet wide in less than a second. Joan watched in abject horror as the main mast came crashing down, cutting the remaining deck almost in half. An officer screamed to focus all fire on the former Vice Admiral, but it was useless. Cannons were a mere inconvenience and the bullets from their rifles nothing more than a grains of sand against his tough hide. Saul took his focus off of the wreckage for only a moment to yell at someone still on the beach and wading out farther into the ocean.

He was going to kill them all.

Once again Rosemary's knees buckled, and this time Joan didn't have the strength to keep her upright. Rose rocked back and forth, cradling her head in her hands. "They're gone. They're. All. _Gone!_ "

There was no time to console her. With Vice Admiral Kuzan gone, Joan was the only ability user on the ship. The thought of facing Saul in combat was terrifying enough at the best of times, but it was clear that the normally placid giant was furious. The Ribbon-Ribbon Fruit's offensive potency was limited against someone Saul's size, but the instinct to survive overrode any reservations Joan might have had. She couldn't let him slaughter them all without a fight.

There was one ship between them and Saul, and that was where the giant set his sights next. He ripped a length of keel off of one of the destroyed vessels and swung it like a club against the starboard side, absorbing the blow of several cannons being shot into his body at close range. The keel shattered on impact, but it was enough to break through. Saul threw the splinters that remained in his hands behind him in disgust before lacing his fingers together and throwing his entire weight into a two-handed blow that almost capsized the boat. Two more strikes finished the job, and the marine vessel began to sink.

Joan was already running. Their ship had moved into a more optimal attacking position while Saul rampaged. This unfortunately closed the distance between them and the insane giant, but not even Saul could ignore the combined effect of over a dozen cannon balls whose aim were true. His movements were slowing, and for a second Joan deluded herself into thinking they had a chance.

The priority was to distract Saul long enough to keep him getting his hands on the ship. Joan shot a length of ribbon that caught Saul around the arm and swung off of the deck. She heard Rosemary scream at her to stop, but for once in her life Joan didn't hesitate. She didn't know why her former mentor was doing this, and right now she didn't care. Her best friend was seemingly losing her mind and helpless to defend herself, while her colleagues were struggling to fulfill the orders they'd been given by the World Government. Today Saul had claimed the lives of more marines than any archeologist, and he had to be stopped.

Even if it meant losing her life.

As Joan arched through the air she threw out a second ribbon that tied itself around a chunk of his thick red beard. Saul yelped, more out of surprise than pain, and jerked his head. The sudden reverse in momentum gave Joan whiplash and threw her high into the air, but it was also enough for another round of cannons to hit the giant square in the face. The explosion momentarily blinded him, and Saul flailed his arms. One meaty hand struck the mast of their ship. It creaked dangerously, but did not fall.

Joan, however, did. She was able to slow her decent with her power, but she still hit the deck hard. Pain shot through her right leg and there was a sickening pop in her ankle as white stars flashed across her vision. Joan bounced like down the length of the deck as the ship was suddenly tilted ninety degrees.

Saul. This could only be Saul. Her diversion barely slowed him down and now he was lifting them into the air. Marines fell into the ocean, and in desperation Joan shot a length of ribbon around the mast to keep from doing the same.

"Joan!"

The panicked shriek somehow cut through the rest of the chaos. Joan looked up to see Rosemary clinging from the railing. With her free hand, Joan threw a thick ribbon towards her as a lifeline that wrapped itself snuggly around Rosemary's waist just as her best friend's grasp slipped.

Saul threw the ship, and Joan felt like her arms were being ripped out of their sockets. But she held on both to the mast and Rosemary, and somehow found the strength to continue holding on as the battleship crashed back into the water. This time there had been no target for Saul's rage and they had not capsized. Though the ship pitched violently and was almost certainly taking on water, it was not destroyed. This seemed to be enough for Saul, for he took his attention away from them and ran back to the shores of Ohara.

Joan curled into a small ball as the adrenaline from the life or death situation faded. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she knew she ought to be taking deep breaths, but breathing hurt. Breathing hurt, and her shoulders were on fire, and her leg was in agony, and…

"Oh my God, _Joan!_ "

Rosemary somehow managed to crawl towards her. Joan tried to reply, but the only thing that came out was a small wheeze.

"J-Joan, the ship, they've destroyed the ship." Rose was in hysterics as tears fell in waves down her face.

"I- _koff_ -I know," Joan gasped.

"No, you don't understand, they…they blew it up. It's gone, the civilians…t-their Voices are _gone!_ "

Before Joan could ask what in the world she was talking about, the mast creaked. Rosemary and Joan simultaneously looked up in time to see it tilt, the area where Saul had stuck splintering and cracking through the length of the wood.

Joan tried to scramble to her feet, but the moment she put weight on her leg she fell. In one fluid motion Rosemary picked her up and started running. She was incredibly strong for her size, but carrying Joan's dead weight slowed her just enough. They managed to escape being crushed, but the force of the mast hitting the deck threw Rosemary off of her feet. She dropped Joan and managed to slide out of immediate danger.

Joan wasn't so lucky.

The last thing she remembered before passing out was one of the long booms that held up the sail crashing onto her leg, right at the knee. There was blinding agony, a flash of red, the white of bone breaking through the skin, and then, for a long time after that, there was only blackness.

* * *

 **AN:** One chapter left, folks. My weekend just got unexpectedly busy, so here's the next chapter super early. I'll probably post the last one before I go to work tomorrow so expect a quick turnaround.

I remember seeing once that someone didn't think Saul was very strong, as far as vice admirals go, and I've got to say I disagree with that line of thought. We know that Robin's first bounty was what it was because the World Government really wanted her dead and would do anything to justify killing her, but assuming that there is a seed of truth to every lie, we can say that during the attack on Ohara six ships were destroyed. One was quite obviously the evacuation ship, but in chapter 397 when Kuzan tells Saul that justice changes shape depending on where you stand, we see the wrecked remains of what appears to be five battleships, implying that was the result of Saul's "justice" at that moment.

Basically what I'm saying is that Saul destroyed half the Buster Call by himself, which is an incredible feat of badassery.Not good for the marines on those ships, but badass nonetheless.

On a completely unrelated note, I always thought it would be hilarious to write a journal-fic from the POV of a mook or civilian. Could you imagine?

 _Dear Diary, it's difficult to imagine I've been at Enies Lobby for a year. Tom over at the watchdog unit says I've done such a good job he's going to get me a puppy for training. I think I'll name him Bruiser._

 _Dear Diary, I heard from Fukuro that Jabra's girlfriend dumped him. It's a real shame, they seemed like a cute couple. Poor guy doesn't have any luck._

 _Dear Diary, Some of the guys are going to camp out by the train for a chance to see the famous Rob Lucci in the flesh. I think that's kind of creepy, but word is he's bringing Nico Robin with him. I wonder if she's hot. Other than that, it's been pretty boring. Nothing ever happens here. There's not a pirate in the world that would be stupid enough to touch Enies Lobby. Oh well. Maybe someday something exciting will happen. Until then, I guess I'll just take the dog out for a walk so he doesn't pee on the carpet again._

 _Dear Diary, I will never complain about things being boring ever again. On a tangentially related note, I now need a new house. Monkey D Luffy broke my old one._


	6. Pyrrhic Victory

Joan Nightingale didn't realize how much she hated hospitals until she was forced to spend six months living in one. It took three orthopedic specialists, a dozen surgeries, and countless hours of physical therapy before she could walk again. The fact that they'd been able to save the leg at all was a miracle of modern science.

She'd broken her ankle in three places, shattered her kneecap, torn several muscles off the bone, and dislocated her hip. Her right leg was now a full three-quarters of an inch shorter than the left and held together with more screws and rods than she cared to remember. The specially made shoes she was required to wear were cumbersome and the brace that supported her ankle chafed, and neither helped her walk across the room without feeling pain.

The head surgeon presiding over her case declared her a success, and Joan would have liked to know what he considered a failure. If she had her way they would have amputated the damn thing at the start, but no one asked for her opinion. Joan and the other survivors of the Buster Call were supposedly heroes and entitled to the best care money could buy. In her case it was nothing but a waste. It wasn't as if she could return to the marines.

Despite her frustration, there was a feeling of contentment when she checked herself out of the hospital for the final time. Joan nodded at the nurses she'd gotten to know during her stay, offered well-wishes to the custodian who told her terrible jokes in an effort to get make her laugh, and walked under her own power out the front doors while silently vowing never to return again.

She paused before facing the daunting obstacle that were the steps outside the front of the hospital and ran her fingers through her hair. With so many hours spent confined to a bed, practicality demanded that she cut it short, and the dark locks ended just below her jaw. The thought of growing it out again—of having the freedom and control to grow it out again—almost made her smile. One glance at her cane quashed that thought, and Joan began the laborious decent down the steps and into the street. Her joints creaked in protest, and not for the first time Joan felt like an old woman trapped in the body of a twenty-five year old.

The cruel irony of her situation was not lost on her. Joan had never been the most powerful or agile of fighters, but had taken influence from the grace, precision, and flexibility found in the dancers she so greatly admired. Even after eating her Devil Fruit Joan had never been one to overwhelm opponents, favoring traps and misdirection to make up for her lack of physical strength. Now that was gone. Every step she took was clunky, uncoordinated, and tentative. Even sitting to read was a challenge, as staying still for long periods of time made her joints to stiffen and lock, occasionally causing debilitating cramps to run up and down her leg.

Worse yet were the _stares_. Joan ignored them as she flagged down a rickshaw and pretended not to see the driver's offered hand as she clambered into the seat. The effort left her lightheaded, and she almost didn't hear when he asked her destination.

"Mariejois Asylum for the Mentally Disturbed," Joan said stiffly before handing him a handful of coins. The journey was not a long one, less than a half an hour walk, provided the one desiring to go there _could_ walk. The driver looked at her a shade longer than normal, whether because of her infirmary or her destination Joan could not tell. She fixed him with a cool glare of her own, an expression that mirrored her father at his most foreboding. The boy shrugged his shoulders as he mounted his bicycle, and they were off.

~x~

It was a month and a half into her hospitalization when Joan received a most unexpected visitor. She was drowsy and still feeling rather ill from yet another operation to her knee when a tall man with an afro and round glasses walked into her room. A small goat trailed behind him, and Joan was certain that the pain medication she'd been given was making her hallucinate, because there was no way Admiral Sengoku had come to visit her.

"At ease," he said when Joan struggled to sit up enough to offer him a salute. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? Her stomach felt queasy and she hadn't had a proper bath since before her surgery. She needed help with tasks as simple as getting to the bathroom, and somewhere beneath the drug-induced haze Joan knew that something was still terribly wrong with her leg, even if no one had the courage to admit it to her.

"I'm well, sir," Joan croaked. Her eyes flickered to where her water pitcher sat frustratingly out of reach. The admiral noticed, and to he poured her a cup of water before helping her drink.

"I'm doing well enough, all things considered," Joan amended once she'd had her fill, watching in mild bemusement as Admiral Sengoku fed the plastic cup to his goat. After a beat of heavy silence she clenched her hands in her bedsheets. "Has there been any word on the Demon Child, sir?"

"None yet, I'm afraid," Admiral Sengoku said. "But it's only a matter of time."

Joan closed her eyes to hide her disappointment. Nico Olvia's spawn still lived, rendering the sacrifice of the Buster Call useless. So many marines, so many civilians, were dead, and for what? The threat of the Ancient Weapons still loomed over the World Government's head like an executioner's sword.

Briefly Joan wondered why the admiral was even here. She was a mere lieutenant who served under one of the worst turncoats in living memory. Joan had been interviewed by Cipher Pol after both Saul's original defection and the Buster Call to ensure she knew nothing of the giant's true intentions. Of course she didn't, which was somehow worse.

She couldn't even feel angry anymore, only betrayed. _He_ at least had paid for his mistake. Vice Admiral Kuzan saw to that, even if it was too late to prevent the Demon Child from escaping the island.

"That wasn't the reason I came here today," Admiral Sengoku said. "The investigation surrounding the events of the Buster Call has been officially closed. Several sources mentioned your diversion of the criminal Jaguar D. Saul and the quick thinking that saved Captain Rosemary from what would have been certain death. Such valor is commendable and should not go unrewarded."

He reached into the inside of his suit pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a golden metal that looked like a mix between a stylized cross and the symbol of the World Government. Joan blinked, looked up at the admiral, and found she couldn't speak. The Golden Cross of Justice was the marine's highest reward, an honor she had not done anything to earn.

"I…I…"

"You've been promoted as well," Admiral Sengoku said, cutting off Joan's sputtered protests. "Congratulations, Commander."

Then the admiral did the unthinkable and saluted _her_. The effect was devastating. Joan was ill and hurting, and she couldn't stand why she was being awarded when she _knew_ that she did not deserve it. Nothing she'd done during the Buster Call warranted the most prestigious honor the marines had to offer as well as being bumped up not one, but _two_ ranks. If anything, she should be punished for her failure to stop Saul.

"I can't even _walk_ ," Joan said, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"The doctors are hopeful that with time and rehabilitation you'll regain function of your leg," Admiral Sengoku said.

"Fifty percent, if I'm lucky. Not even my surgeon has the hubris to claim I'll ever be able to sail again," Joan said bitterly, forgetting for a moment who it was she was addressing. "Forgive me, sir, but a marine who can't sail is no marine at all. I've already put in my paperwork for discharge."

"I know," Admiral Sengoku said. He gestured to one of the seats reserved for visitors, seats that until today had remained empty. "May I?"

Joan nodded, sudden wariness flooding her body. Even if she had earned that stupid metal she would not be receiving it here, in this godforsaken hospital room with only the admiral to see. Award ceremonies were pompous, lavish affairs, and that counted double for something as prestigious as the Golden Cross of Justice. Hero stories made good morale-boosters, and the Government never overlooked something that could be used as fodder in their propaganda machine.

A double promotion and an award following a top-secret mission, the details of which were still being kept hidden from the world at large. It was almost like Admiral Sengoku was trying to bribe her, though Joan's tired mind couldn't figure out why.

"There are desk jobs available in the marines should you reconsider," Admiral Sengoku said. "Although I've been looking through your file, and there is another option that you may have overlooked."

"Sir?"

"Have you considered transferring to Cipher Pol?" he asked pointedly. "It's mostly desk work, yes, but they need people with good heads on their shoulders. Your records from the Academy more than prove you have the intelligence for it. With a little training you could go far."

A double promotion, an award, and a job offer. Admiral Sengoku was definitely after something, but Joan couldn't find it within her to care.

"I've not thought about it, no, but if you think I'm suited for the work, I'll certainly look into it," Joan said. "Forgive me for changing the subject, sir, but you mentioned Captain Rosemary. Do you…do you have any word on her?"

The admiral shifted uncomfortably, and Joan pressed on.

"She and I went to the Academy together. She saved my life during the Buster Call, but I haven't heard from her since. She wasn't…she wasn't well, sir."

"What do you mean?" Admiral Sengoku asked.

"Rosemary, I mean, the captain was fine until the Buster Call started," Joan explained. "But then she kept talking about voices and things disappearing. She sounded…mad."

Joan was afraid that Admiral Sengoku would say he didn't know what she was talking about, or, worse, write what she was saying off as sentimental nonsense. But a pensive look flashed across his face, and he stroked his mustache. "This started after the Buster Call began?"

"Well, not exactly, sir." Joan closed her eyes and tried to recall exactly how Rose had put it. "She told me the day before we reached Ohara that she had heard voices, or something that sounded like voices but weren't, since she was a child. I always assumed she was simply a good judge of character, but she made it sound like she had this…sort of sixth sense when it came to understanding people."

"Voices that aren't voices?" Joan nodded, realizing the foolishness of what she'd said even as she said it. The lines on Admiral Sengoku's face deepened. "I wish we'd known this sooner. It explains everything."

"Sir?" Joan asked.

"I _have_ visited Captain Rosemary," Admiral Sengoku said. "I've been trying to visit all of the marines left incapacitated by the Buster Call."

"Incapacitated?" Joan parroted dumbly. "She was injured?"

Admiral Sengoku sighed deeply and leaned back into his seat. "Commander, I take it you're not very familiar with Haki, are you?"

~x~

Thirteen. It was an unlucky number under any circumstance, but that misfortune doubled when it came to stairs. Joan loathed stairs with the same passion she usually reserved for the Demon Child, and it just so happened that there were thirteen of them between the first and second floor of the asylum. Including the five in front of the building, that was thirty-six stairs in a round trip. Add in the ones outside the hospital and she was up to forty-one, and Joan was already dreading the thought of waking up tomorrow morning.

Stairs and stares: two of the things she hated most, and Joan couldn't decide which made her life more miserable.

She made the laborious climb as well as could be expected. The long-term ward of the asylum was brightly lit and well furnished, with bland landscape paintings dotting the cream-colored walls in an unsuccessful attempt to make the place feel homey. A large kiosk where a trio of nurses sat dominated the right side of the lounge. Joan limped towards them.

"Excuse me," she said politely. "I'm here to visit Captain Rosemary. Could you tell me where she is?"

"Are you the one her uncle was talking about?" one of the nurses asked. "The one who served with her in the marines?"

"Yes, ma'am. Forgive me for my tardiness, I was…delayed."

 _Damn stairs._

"Oh, it's no problem. Her uncle just got here anyway, so you've not missed much. They're in the activity room, down the hall and to the left. You can't miss it."

Murmuring her thanks, Joan hobbled down the hallway. She passed an elderly man talking loudly to a potted plant, a young woman rocking back and forth in a recliner while clutching a baby doll close to her chest, and two men who looked perfectly ordinary playing cards. Her unease grew. Admiral Sengoku said that Rosemary had had a nervous breakdown due to the sudden onset of Observation Haki, but no one seemed to know when she would recover. Joan had wasted no time writing to Rose's uncle telling him everything she knew, hoping that it would aid her treatment.

The uncle had replied with his thanks and extended an invitation for her to visit once she was recovered, implying that he thought it would do Rosemary some good. In the months since then he had written sporadically with updates, but Joan was anxious to see how Rosemary's treatment was progressing in person.

Eventually she found the activity room, and what she saw brought her to an abrupt halt. In a wheelchair was Rosemary, sitting next to a man Joan presumed to be her uncle. Her blue eyes gazed at a section of wall without really seeing, while thin fingers picked absentmindedly at a quilt around her legs.

She looked…small. Rosemary's determination and drive always seemed two sizes too big for her petite frame, but that aura of confidence was gone. She'd lost weight. It looked as if someone had stretched a layer of skin over her skeleton, and her clothes hung limply from her body. Someone had taken the effort to dress her nicely and tame her mass of curly hair, something the Rosemary Joan knew didn't care for and would never have allowed.

"Looky here, Rose," her uncle said. They looked so alike that if Joan didn't know better, she would have thought him to be her father. Cords of hard muscle added bulk to his small frame—much like Rose before the Buster Call. "Someone's come t' visit you."

Rosemary blinked sunken, hollow eyes that had lost all their fire and tilted her head towards Joan. "Hello. My name's Rosemary. You can call me Rose. Most everyone does."

There was no spark of recognition, nothing in her face to suggest she knew who Joan was. Numbness spread through Joan's chest, taking her breath away and leaving her speechless. She'd known things were bad, but no one had warned her it was _this_ bad.

Her feet moved of their own accord, and before Joan knew what she was doing, she was standing by her best friend, who for years had been more like family than her real family ever was. A tiny frown crossed Rose's features.

"I knew someone who looked like you once, but her hair was longer 'n yours."

"Rose, darlin', this here is Joan. You went to school together," her uncle said, his voice pained.

Rosemary turned her attention to her uncle. "I went to school? You always said it was too expensive."

Joan wasn't stupid. Both Admiral Sengoku and Rosemary's uncle had described the manic symptoms of Rose's illness, and what Joan had been told was nothing like the placid, inattentive creature she was seeing now. During her hospitalization Joan had fallen into the habit of borrowing medical literature from the staff, and she knew the common treatment for intractable psychosis. Righteous anger flooded her veins, burning away the worst of the numbness.

"I'll be back shortly." Joan said stiffly before rushing out of the room as fast as she could, almost making it out the door before Rosemary asked her uncle what was wrong with her leg. Joan had not moved so quickly in over six months. She knew she would regret her haste later, but at the moment she did not care. The nurses somehow did not notice her coming until she was almost upon them like a vengeful fury.

"Please tell me you didn't do what I think you've done."

"Excuse me?" one asked.

"The flat affect, the inability to walk…She's incontinent, too, don't think I can't smell the urine," Joan hissed under her breath. "You've lobotomized her, haven't you?"

Two of the nurses shared an uneasy look, but the third, who appeared to be their leader, only peered down her nose. "If you're so educated on medical treatments then you should know that it is against the law for us to discuss a patient's history with someone who is not related."

It wasn't a conformation, but neither was it a denial and the way the two younger nurses refused to look her in the eye spoke volumes.

" _You lobotomized her?!"_ Joan roared. "She…she's not insane! Haki is a well-documented phenomenon, all she needed was control!"

"Ma'am, I understand you're upset, but…"

"Upset? _Upset?!_ I was upset when I realized you didn't have an elevator. Do you realize what you've done? Her life is _ruined_ , because you allowed some quack to stick a glorified ice pick into the frontal lobe of her _brain_."

"Ma'am, if you don't calm down I'm afraid I'll have to call security to remove you from the premises."

"Oh, so you're going to kick the cripple out to the curb? Wouldn't that be a sorry sight," Joan said, her voice dripping with scorn. The younger nurses flinched as she leaned over the desk, forcing them to look her in the eye. "You've destroyed her future. Rosemary risked life and limb to keep incompetent morons like you safe from some of the greatest threats of this age. This is what she gets in return? I didn't see any signs of an incision, which means you must have done the procedure months ago. Did you even _try_ to treat her underlying condition? Or was doing your jobs too God. Damn. _Difficult?!_ "

A strong hand clasped her shoulder, and Joan spun around, acidic insult burning on the end of her tongue. It was too much for her knee to handle, and she almost collapsed into the arms of Rosemary's uncle.

"Come on, missy. Let's get some fresh air 'fore you say something you really regret." He led Joan towards the door, tipping an imaginary hat to the nurses as he passed. "Marines. Always high-strung."

"Do you know what they've done?" Joan protested.

"'Parently not as much as you, but I do reckon that I know what Rose was like 'fore they did whatever it was they done."

"What do you mean?" Joan said as they settled outside of the ward. "If it was the voices, I tried to explain in my letter, it's just—"

"I know, that Hackney stuff. That was mighty helpful in figuring out what was going on, but Miss Nightingale, it were already too late." Together they exited the ward, Rosemary's uncle calmly shutting the door behind them.

"What…what do you mean?" Joan repeated, this time afraid of what she would hear.

"The doc tried to explain it, mostly went over my head. Most things do. Rose always said it was 'cause everyone in the family was so short." Rosemary's uncle sighed and ran his hand over his unruly crop of hair. "I dunno. All I know is I ain't all that bright, but even without any book learning I knew something had to change. She'd scratch at her face so bad they had to tie gloves to her hands t' keep her from hurtin' herself. Sometimes she'd wake up in the middle've the night screaming. She wouldn't eat. Once I was here when she started rammin' her head against the wall hard enough she knocked herself out cold."

"But…it was just Haki. After the initial shock, Haki shouldn't cause psychosis," Joan said. She had to fight the urge to be sick, horrified by the ordeal Rosemary had been forced to endure.

"She kept talkin' about the voices disappearing," her uncle said with a tired shrug of the shoulders. "They had t' sedate her 'most all the time, and when we thought she made a breakthrough she'd go back to that fight ya guys were in the West Blue. The papers say you fought demons over there, but I reckon hers never left her."

"Dear God," Joan breathed.

"This way is hard. I won't say it ain't hard, but damn it all, she ain't needed a shot in two weeks now to keep from screaming."

"And the voices?" Joan asked. "Does she say anything about the voices?"

"They're gone. Her head's been quiet as a grave since the surgery. The doc says it was a real success."

~x~

"Do you really think I'm suited for Cipher Pol, sir?"

Admiral Sengoku paused in the doorframe. He'd been preparing to leave after telling Joan about the nature of Rosemary's ability. The truth left her shell-shocked, and a part of her still couldn't believe it. Haki was too fantastical even for a world where Devil Fruits existed to possibly be real. There was no way sheer determination and ambition could hold so much power.

But if it did, Rosemary _would_ be the one to unlock it.

"I do," he said.

Joan bunched her hands in her bedsheets, thinking hard. Even knowing that she could never return to the marines, she could never picture herself doing anything else. Oh, sure, with her abilities and pristine military history she could have found work just about anywhere, but there was so much injustice in the world. So much corruption. It ruined good men like Jaguar D. Saul and poisoned illustrious institutions like the Tree of Knowledge until the World Government had no choice but to fight fire with fire, losing more innocents in the process.

There had to be a better way. Military might had not prevented Nico Olvia from turning Saul. Ideas were powerful, which made the mind the strongest weapon in the world. The problem was they knew more about the Grand Line than the human psyche, and those who studied the infant science of psychology were only just beginning to develop theories on the origins of evil and its relationship to criminal behavior. The marines were fighting against an enemy they did not truly understand, and if the Buster Call against Ohara was any indication, they were losing.

"I did have one more thing I almost forgot to mention," Admiral Sengoku said. "What occurred on Ohara is top secret information. The Buster Call is the marine's trump card, and we cannot afford to have pirates learning of it lest that power somehow fall into the wrong hands."

"Of course, sir."

His eyes flickered to her mangled leg, and his expression softened. "Nor can we allow the corrupting influence of the Demon Child spread. The more the world knows of her ability and history the more she will be sought out by undesirables. I don't think I need to tell you this, but if the World Government hears that you've been discussing your last mission with _anyone,_ there will be dire consequences. The security of the world depends on your discretion."

Ah, so it was her silence that they were trying to buy. No matter. Joan would have given it freely.

"I'm glad we are in agreement," the admiral said after studying her face. He paused again, eyes crinkling in thought. "And back to your original question, I think you of all people would like to see Nico Robin brought to justice. Your time as a marine might be over, but with Cipher Pol you might still have that opportunity."

Joan stiffened. She had not thought of that, and of course what he said was true. Admiral Sengoku gathered up his pet goat.

"Think about it," he said, and then he was gone.

~x~

Visiting hours were nearly over, and with a heavy heart Joan rose from Rosemary's side for the final time. She was shipping out to her first assignment as a Cipher Pol agent the next morning, and there was no telling when, if ever, she would be able to return.

"You're leaving?" Rose asked mildly.

"I'm afraid so," Joan said quietly. "I doubt the nurses would be willing to bend the rules for me after I shouted at them."

"Oh."

Rosemary said no more and turned her attention to a picture of a sailboat, and Joan was too defeated to offer anything else. If she felt old after leaving the hospital, now she was simply weary. Her best friend was dead in all but name, and Joan's heart was broken, perhaps beyond repair.

"That's yer favorite picture, ain't it, Rose?" her uncle said, trying to draw her back into conversation.

Rosemary nodded. "I'd like to go to sea someday."

Joan's lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. Even now, with her personality and fire stolen from her by the Demons of Ohara, a ghost of who Rosemary was still remained. It was a small comfort, but one Joan clung to. Maybe she would never come to peace with what had happened on that fateful day in the West Blue, but she could endure it. That was enough.

It had to be.

* * *

 **AN:** Before the development of psychotropic drugs, lobotomies were the go-to procedure for everything from schizophrenia, depression, anxiety, or in the case of one Howard Dully, unruly children disliked by their stepmothers. One of the earliest and most famous lobotomies patients was Rosemary Kennedy (who I named my OC after), John F. Kennedy's sister. It is debated whether or not she actually suffered from mental illness, but there's no doubting the effects the procedure had on her life. She spent the rest of her days living in institutions. Lobotomies are still preformed today in extreme circumstances, usually to treat seizure disorders, and thankfully the technique has improved with modern technology.

It's difficult to say whether or not psychotropic drugs exist in the world of One Piece, but based on the number of crazy people allowed to run rampant without treatment, I'd say not. Poor Chopper has his work cut out for him.

I've had Joan's backstory in my mind for quite some time, and was inspired by Coby's onset of Observation Haki. In case it wasn't clear, Rosemary never fully unlocked her Observation Haki until the Buster Call, and her 'instinct' can be compared to the pseudo-Haki abilities shown by Luffy during Little Garden when he was able to punch out the real Mr. 3 amidst all the wax copies.

Thanks for sticking with this little diversion from my regularly scheduled stories. I'm already back into the kick of writing regularly, so I hope to start updating my ongoing stories soon. Thanks as always for your continued patience, and as always, feel free to review. Good, bad, or indifferent, I'd like to hear y'alls opinion.

Lastly, if anyone is interested, I do have a few other short stories/one shots for OCs that I had planned for stories I'm not sure I'll ever get to write. If there's enough interest I'm willing to post a dumping ground for them as they're just collecting metaphorical dust on my computer. Let me know what you think.


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